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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559786">In Good Company</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/helianskies/pseuds/helianskies'>helianskies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All four of them are idiots in love, Antonio and Gilbert are trying to be helpful, Better Partners, Dating, Developing Relationships, Dinner Date, Fluff, Francis and Arthur are sweet together, Good Friends, Humour, M/M, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:34:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/helianskies/pseuds/helianskies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio and Gilbert decide to help Francis and Arthur enjoy a romantic evening together after previously doing more damage than good. And what better than to cook a fancy meal for them?</p><p>However, by the end of the night, it might not just be Francis and Arthur that are going to have some fun together...</p><p>* * * * * * *</p><p>Rated M to cover basis of: strong language, mild sexual references/implications and alcohol-induced antics.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>England/France (Hetalia), Prussia/Spain (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In Good Company</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio and Gilbert both looked over the email that they had spent the past hour writing together to check for any final discrepancies or spelling errors. They seemed to be in the clear. The brunette turned to his companion and asked those revered words: “Should I send it?” A few seconds of silence fell between them. And then, at last: “Do it.”</p>
<hr/><p>Whatever in God’s name had prompted this all was not all that much of a mystery. Arthur had received an email a couple days back from one of his lesser-favourite nations, and now he had come to find himself in Corrèze, a rural region in France that he had grown somewhat fond of. Compared to Paris, it was Eden, favourable on account of the fewer tourists, the greater tranquility of the countryside… </p><p>Arthur knocked on the door of Francis’ country abode. It was a quaint cottage overlooking a spectacular green view, with few neighbours stretched out along winding lanes and all the peace he could ask for in a location. No one knew it besides Francis himself, but Arthur rather enjoyed the bike rides along the hills, or the walks through tall fields, or the trips into the Dordogne Valley to the south. It was idyllic. A whole other world, very different to that of London. And of course, when one got to look on as the sun was slowly dipping below the distant hills, it was only all the more enthralling.</p><p>The door opened. Arthur turned abruptly back to look at who it was. Ah. Not who he had quite expected to see. “Good evening, Antonio.”</p><p>“Evening,” the Spaniard smiled back at him.</p><p>Arthur would normally have found something rude and snarky to say, but this evening, he couldn’t bring himself to. Antonio was the reason he was there and seemed to be trying to make amends for the horrid practical joke that he and Gilbert had played on Francis and Arthur about a month back. There was no need to go into details, but it had resulted in a great big mess, a hole in a wall, a shit-ton of cream and a minor injury (to Francis, the poor sod). But yes, for now, if the Spaniard was trying to be kind to him, then he would do his best to return the favour.</p><p>“Come on in, Francis is outside in the garden,” Antonio pressed on, gesturing for him to enter the cottage and then walk all the way through. “There’s some wine waiting, too.”</p><p>“Wonderful. Thanks.”</p><p>Arthur gave a meek smile in return (he was getting better at it around certain people, he promised!) and walked into the build, passing through the familiar space of the living room, then the dining room, and out onto the veranda. Francis was sitting at the table, bottle open and one glass of wine poured. The scene had also been illuminated by string lights, wrapped loosely around the wooden poles that kept the roof up over their heads, like fireflies. A single candle had been lit and was positioned in the perfect centre of the white tablecloth. Music faintly spilled from an old radio left sat on the windowsill.</p><p>“Talk about making an effort,” the Brit remarked with an easy grin. </p><p>He stole Francis’ attention from the rose bushes and far-off valley, causing him to suddenly rise from his seat to greet him. They met in the middle. A kiss to each cheek, a mutual gesture that made the both of them happy in a way that neither had ever yet been able to voice properly. </p><p>“I’m happy to see you,” Francis said to him as they both sat down. He took the wine—a hearty bordeaux, from the nearby region—and poured some out for Arthur. “I honestly did not think you would come.”</p><p>“Oh? And why is that?”</p><p>“Let’s face it,” he replied, a brief chuckle escaping him, “neither of us really expected that invitation. <em> Especially </em> in email form, though I believe that was Gilbert’s doing. But— Well, why would you want to come to something proposed by Gilbert and Antonio when they have not been all that... <em> accommodating</em>?”</p><p>Arthur had to hand it to the man; Francis knew him well. But even so: “It’s not that they haven’t been <em> accommodating</em>. I’m sure they couldn’t care less about what you and I do and/or are,” he assured the other. Of course, the word ‘relationship’ was purposefully omitted. “They just find a strange entertainment in winding me up.”</p><p>“Strange is most certainly the word for it.”</p><p>“And yet, they remain your closest friends,” Arthur added. He picked up the glass of wine, thanking Francis before he forgot such manners, and dared a smile (a smug one, at that). “Really, I’d even dare to say you probably encourage them.”</p><p>Francis, as expected, took offense to the accusation. “<em>Never</em>,” he insisted with that classic French fervour. Seeing that face all aghast and marred by a frown (as terrible as it looked on Francis) never grew old. “You know I wouldn’t, <em> mon copain.</em>” That bastard bloody pet name, on the other hand… “I would rather they did <em> not </em> drive you away.”</p><p>“Aw, I’m touched. Don’t worry,” Arthur chuckled, “you can’t get rid of me that easily.”</p><p>As he took his first sip of wine of the evening, enjoying the light nip of the air and the warm tickle of alcohol, the pair were joined by one of their hosts. Where Francis and Arthur had quite naturally dressed up and made an effort for each other, it seemed that only Gilbert had otherwise put some semblance of a suit on; he looked very much like a waiter, or a penguin, with a cute (lopsided) dickie bow to match. Ah, how Arthur <em> wished </em>he could take a photograph!</p><p>“Alright,” the German said as he came onto the veranda and swiftly presented the duo with a piece of paper each. “This is the menu we have available today, and your stay with us comes with four courses and all-inclusive beverages. My name is Gilbert (obviously), and I will be your incredibly professional and efficient waiter for this evening, so if you need any drinks at any point, let me know.”</p><p>Arthur and Francis shared a look. Arthur was doing his best not to smile too much and let it loose that he was already rather entertained by this attempt to make it up to himself and Francis. Meanwhile, Francis was hiding away in a glass of wine, swallowing it down with his own adolescent amusement. In all, they seemed to be off to a great start. Though, it did come to Arthur’s attention quite quickly as he looked at the ‘menu’ they had been given.</p><p>“Four courses, you say?” he asked Gilbert with a raised brow, and then gestured to the paper he held: "I can see there's plenty of choice." Because there were only four things written on it.</p><p>“That's because we are a one-man kitchen staff and not a proper restaurant with the capacity to provide a million options," Gilbert responded, somewhat pointedly. It made Arthur wonder how much Antonio had promised him in turn for playing the role of 'dedicated waiter'. "I should add that the final course comes with something extra, which is apparently a surprise.”</p><p>Francis hummed for the both of them. "Duly noted, Gilbert. Thank you."</p><p>"Of course, happy to help." It was as though he were reading his lines off a script. They really had gone to some sort of effort, hadn’t they. Arthur was amazed. “Now, your chef this evening is Chef Antonio, so if you have any problems with the food, you know who to throw your plate at.”</p><p>“No problems there,” Arthur joked. It earned him a light kick to the shin, but he could see Francis smiling at him all the same. They were clearly as bad as each other.</p><p>Gilbert himself gave a bemused snort (perhaps he would join in with the dish-throwing) and then continued: “In essence, he has done his best to give you a bit of both: a bit of French, a bit of English."</p><p>"It seems like a decent job."</p><p>"Quite."</p><p>"So, what will it be? Are you happy to go for all of the courses?" Gilbert asked them, pulling a pad and a pen from the pocket apron they hadn't even noticed he'd been wearing. A true professional, indeed. "If not, again, blame the chef. I am simply your not-so-humble waiter.”</p><p>The menu, in its black-and-white simplicity, listed rather proudly the four courses up for grabs: a leek and stilton soup, coq au vin, eton mess, and a classic cheese board. Arthur had no qualms with it, provided Antonio didn’t do a bodge job of what he considered one of the few French entrees he would willingly eat when sober, and that the eton mess at least used ripe, sweet strawberries. If they weren't, strawberries were <em> vile </em> things. And contrary to popular belief, Arthur did in fact have taste buds that would prefer to not be offended.</p><p>Regardless, he gave his approval, and Francis very much agreed. </p><p>“I quite like a good eton mess,” he had said as Gilbert took back the menus and vanished back inside the cottage.</p><p>“You’d like the Conservatives, then,” Arthur quipped back.</p><p>But this was not the time nor place for politics. For once, he just wanted to enjoy an evening without thinking about work, without thinking about his countless responsibilities… Really, he wanted to actually be able to spend this time with Francis, as controversial as it sounded, and make the most of the serenity of the countryside.</p>
<hr/><p>In the kitchen on the other side of the small building, Gilbert appeared and told Antonio that it was all a-go, that they were happy with the options, and that Operation Food’n’Fun was underway. (Antonio had not approved of the name, not liking the ring to it at all, but he also didn’t see why it had to be some military operation in the <em> first </em>place. He was just happy to be able to help and also prove to himself that he could be as good a romantic as Francis when he wanted to be). </p><p>Gilbert stayed in the kitchen with him all the while. Most of the prepwork had been done ahead of time, so there was little to do, which left the duo some time to talk amongst themselves as well.</p><p>Once Antonio had turned on the hob to start heating up the soup ready for serving, he grabbed a glass of wine (a dry rosé, or in Francis’ words: <em> sacrilege to wine</em>) and met Gilbert’s bottle of beer. It was perfectly fine! Drinking on the job was totally allowed! And if Francis or Arthur wanted to make any kind of comment (not that they could see, let alone hear, the goings-on in the kitchen) then he would fight them. <em> Literally</em>.</p><p>Glass hit glass with a jovial <em> ching! </em>and the pair had a sip (or swig) of their beverages as the night commenced. </p><p>“Do you regret deciding to do this yet?” Gilbert asked the other, observing as Antonio absent-mindedly stirred the thick soup, looking back at him in turn. What on earth Antonio was so focused on was beyond him—but it certainly wasn’t the cooking. “You already look tired.”</p><p>“Nah, I’m fine,” the brunette reassured him. Gilbert wasn’t fully convinced. “It’s just been a long day, but it will be worth it. For them.” He threw a nod at the wall to his left, beyond which Arthur and Francis would have been seen conversing through a window, in their own little bubble. “We kind of owe it to them after last time…”</p><p>Gilbert gave a snicker of laughter at the fond memory; at the time, it hadn’t quite been so funny. “I take full responsibility for that one, that was absolutely my fault.”</p><p>“Very true,” Antonio agreed with an equally entertained smirk. But it did not last too long, things becoming serious as he turned to face the small pot of soup. “But no disasters tonight. I want it all to go<em> smoothly</em>, if only for Fran’s sake. He needs this. He needs to feel some love and appreciation—and not from us, for once...”</p><p>“Aww, you make it sound like he’s leaving us for—for Arthur!” the Prussian remarked. Did he really think that a relationship would be the end of the line? Had he paid no attention to the previous <em> centuries </em> of camaraderie? “Don’t be ridiculous!” he thus stated, coming to stand by him and slapping a hand on his shoulder. “He’s just a sappy love-puppy! He can’t get rid of us that easily.”</p><p>“It’s not that I am worried or sad, Gil. I know he’s not just going to <em> stop </em> being around us,” came Antonio’s amused reply, however, throwing Gilbert off his pedestal. He glanced over his shoulder at him and smiled that sweet, <em> sweet </em> smile. “I just think it’s about time that he had something like this. And I’m really happy that you and I can help!”</p><p>“Ah, true. It certainly puts him in our debt,” Gilbert supposed.</p><p>“Mmm, I think this just evens the field,” Antonio corrected him. </p><p>He let the wooden spoon sit still in the pot and collected the soup bowls from the appropriate cupboard (because of course Francis had actual <em> designated soup bowls </em> and not just <em> random </em> bowls he could put soup <em> in</em>), setting them down on the side. Gilbert in the meantime conducted a brief search for the tray he had been provided to carry out his work, and Antonio served up the leek and stilton soup. Once they had been finished off by carefully-placed croutons, they were set onto the tray and Gilbert got ready to leave. But, before he could—</p><p>"Hold on, come here a second," Antonio requested, so Gilbert cautiously moved towards him with the tray balancing in his hands.</p><p>The brunette fiddled with the bow tie he had been coerced into wearing and presumably straightened it out, judging by how he went from focused-frowning to satisfied-smiling in the span of three seconds. Ah, he just couldn't help but smile back!</p><p>"There," Antonio said, lightly patting his chest as though to say '<em>perfect, a work of art'</em>. "Now you can go."</p><p>"Nice! I'll try to hurry back so you won't miss me too much!"</p><p>"Oh yes, please do!"</p>
<hr/><p>Francis was truly elated that Arthur had come all the way to Corrèze for him when he had no need to, no obligation to. Of course, Francis had had nothing to do with the arrangement of the whole romantic dinner fiasco that his best friends had pulled. All he had done was say 'yes' to a simple request from Antonio to use the property for something special for one evening, a one-off event, <em> I'll pay you back another time, I promise! </em>Saying no to Antonio had never been easy.</p><p>But, regardless, when he had seen that Arthur had replied to the email first and had actually <em> agreed </em> to fly out to France… Nothing had made him feel so giddy, like a teenage girl, in decades. And now there they were, sitting opposite each other and watching the sky darken overhead together, a bottle of wine to keep them company. </p><p>Arthur was an easy person to talk to once you got used to his demeanour. In fact, he rather enjoyed the banter, the small jabs, the rivalry that occasionally seeped out in his tone as he joked. He also enjoyed just listening to him talk about even the most mundane of things. His voice was so soothing, so calm, like a river. Not even the Seine could compete. Oh, it felt like he was falling in love all over again, for the umpteenth time in all the centuries they had known each other. Arthur was just magnetic. It was his biggest fault.</p><p>While he was momentarily lost, looking at the Brit as he rambled on about a book he had been reading that had apparently reminded him of Francis (a touching notion), Gilbert had emerged from the cottage behind them and was balancing a tray on one hand. Francis couldn't help but feel a slight concern for his crockery. <em> Please don't drop it, please don't drop it, please don't drop it</em>—</p><p>Gilbert didn't drop it.</p><p>In fact, he was perfectly capable of taking each soup bowl and setting it down in front of both parties. <em> Well-rehearsed,</em> Francis assumed. It wouldn't have surprised him if Gilbert had put the effort into practising. He gave his friend a smile and thanked him, followed promptly by Arthur, and the couple (well, not officially) were left to their own devices once more.</p><p>Leek and stilton soup. Not a culinary crime, it turned out.</p><p>"I wonder where he pulled this recipe from," the Frenchman mused aloud, more so to himself than to his peer, though the comment was not left unnoticed.</p><p>Arthur was quick to reply: "Out of his pert ass, I imagine," and had proceeded to indulge in the simple dish as if he hadn't just given Antonio a compliment—and one about his <em> derièrre, </em>of all things (as, <em> ahem</em>, 'pert' as it indeed was). </p><p>There was no need to say anything further on the matter.</p><p>The pair continued to eat and chat. It was almost domestic! Francis imagined what it would be like to do this more often with Arthur, to invite him over for a meal (though it was a long way to go just for food, even by Francis' standards) and to share a quiet evening together. Good, he supposed. He could easily picture them doing it, both there in Corrèze and in the Cotswolds, sitting in the rural nowhere, talking like two old souls. Wouldn't it have been <em> wonderful</em>? He would have had no protests, no problems. But did Arthur feel the same?</p><p>He had to, surely, if he had agreed with such minuscule hesitation to the emailed invitation to see him for a 'romantic meal for two under the stars'. That, or he was just that desperate.</p><p>Ah, he had to chide himself for that one. <em> Don't be stupid, Francis, he wouldn't string you along like that and you know it.</em> They had been on good terms for a while, where politics had not been concerned, and had grown closer since the post-war era. Arthur had learned to be more open around Francis, just as Francis had learned to be more patient with Arthur. It was why they had not declared their relationship to be official: he was waiting for Arthur to be sure, to feel comfortable.</p><p>Francis didn't mind waiting.</p>
<hr/><p>Ten minutes had passed when Antonio had sent Gilbert to see if they were done so he could collect the bowls and bring them back to start soaking in the sink. If there was one thing the Spaniard advocated, it was cleaning up as you go! </p><p>Another bit of rosé later, Gilbert returned with the sought treasures and set them into the sink as instructed. Next up was the coq au vin, a dish often considered <em> divine </em> when served by Francis, and Antonio was hoping he had done it justice. Prepped with it were some vegetables and potatoes still roasting in the oven, crackling and crisping away. They would need another ten minutes, then he would need to bring the coq au vin back up to high temp, then he would need to pour himself some more wine. Easy-peasy!</p><p>In the meantime, Gilbert had decided to put a little bit of music on. To kill the silence, he supposed. What Antonio hadn't expected was for him to bring up an album playlist of 'Back For Good' by Modern Talking. Gilbert had obviously remembered how Antonio had once drunkenly started singing and dancing along to 'Cheri Cheri Lady' a few months back as it came onto the radio, and refused to let him live it down. At least the first song was 'You're My Heart, You're My Soul'—a simple, classic song that always brought Francis and Gilbert to mind. His heart, his soul. <em> Mi corazón, mi alma</em>. They meant a lot to him.</p><p>And then Gilbert began to lip-sync along to the song and Antonio couldn't help but laugh at the theatrics that came with the performance. What else could he do but join in? Soon enough, the kitchen had become a stage and they were right in the centre.</p><p><em> You're my heart, you're my soul</em>. Antonio beamed and threw a wink at Gilbert as they danced together, bumping around the kitchen into the counters, into each other, the chorus kicking in. <em> Yeah, I'm feeling that our love will grow</em>. He reached out for him and they collided, holding onto each other close, tight. The music and alcohol was taking over. <em> You're my heart, you're my soul</em>. Did Gilbert even know it? How much he meant? Why Antonio was always more than willing to be a party to his schemes, or speak to him at godless hours of the night when he needed someone to vent to? Probably not, not fully... <em> That's the only thing I really know</em>.</p><p>By the time the food needed finishing, 'Cheri Cheri Lady' had graciously entered the room. Antonio was singing along as he got the spittling, fluffy potatoes from the oven, and Gilbert had taken to emulating the song's panpipes with his own voice in the background. God, they were a fucking mess! How Francis and Arthur hadn't told them to shut up was a miracle! This was what happened when Antonio and his Provençal rosé consumption went unsupervised: intermittent bouts of inebriation, bad singing and utterly shameless behaviour.</p><p>The plating up was easy enough, though he did enlist Gilbert's help, asking him to turn the music right down. "Too early for a headache," he had insisted when Gilbert asked what for; a diversion. "I want to enjoy this evening too, if I can!"</p><p>So, Gilbert was seeing to the actual coq au vin portion of the meal, while Antonio handled the sides. Together, they put together a rather scrumptious looking plate! Antonio set both hot dishes back onto the tray and sent Gilbert out on his way to be the good server he was, and, while the other was away, he figured it was time to refill his glass. Again. And to, perhaps, find some <em> different </em> music to listen to…</p>
<hr/><p>The coq au vin went down a treat. Arthur was rather surprised by the Spaniard's ability to cook something proper that wasn't actually <em> Spanish</em>. Hats off to him! </p><p>Meanwhile, the duo had already refilled their glasses (not that they filled them much anyway, as per the correct etiquette) and had taken to discussing personal matters, their personal circumstances... In essence, Francis had wanted to know if they would ever confirm whether or not they were seeing each other romantically to anyone that <em> wasn't </em> his rather in-the-know friends. Arthur had been unable to give him an answer. Not that he could help it or be <em> blamed. </em>He just… didn't know. The last thing Arthur wanted to do was jump the gun.</p><p>He liked Francis, of course. Not only had they shared in these soft, blessed moments together, much like this dinner, but they had also had their, uh, <em> less soft </em> moments together which were truly no one's business. They had ups just as they had downs. Was that what a relationship was supposed to entail? Arthur couldn't be sure he knew. He had only had a few, and even then, looking at it historically, it was so <em> different </em> with Francis.</p><p>The Frenchie was just so— So— So <em> agh! </em> He couldn't even put it into words! There! That was what he was: abso-fucking-lutely <em> breath-taking</em>, to the point where Arthur struggled to take his eyes off of him and focus on the words leaving his mouth rather than the glint in his blue eyes, the way his hair was barely ruffled by the breeze, how he seemed so carefree and collected all the damned time! How?! How could he be so <em> perfect </em>?!</p><p>Arthur only felt inadequate. The fact that Francis was pursuing this relationship was a gift, a thing he cherished, but of course he couldn't help but think that he could do so much better…</p><p>"What are you thinking about?" Francis asked him, piercing the isolating bubble that had formed around Arthur and shocking him out of stasis. "You seem to be distracted. Are you okay?" </p><p>Arthur fumbled over his thoughts. "Yeah," he forced out with a meek smile, "I'm fine."</p><p>What he hadn't expected to result was for Francis to reach a hand across the table and take Arthur's own hand and hold it. It was a gesture that almost had him turning as red as the wine. Good God, what was the matter with him? </p><p>"I never thanked you, you know."</p><p>"For what?" Arthur questioned.</p><p>"For giving me a chance, back last year." Francis amended, giving Atthur's hand a gentle squeeze. He squeezed back. "You had no reason to agree to come out with me—"</p><p>"Does that matter? Do I <em> ever </em> need a reason to spend time with you?" The Brit didn't think so. Truth be told, he had seldom made excuses to <em> not </em> see Francis each time he had asked him out. "The only reason I ever actually <em> have </em> to come and see you is because, <em> just maybe </em> , I <em> want </em> to see you."</p><p>There. He did it. Was that a good enough heart-opening for now? Was that a decent enough confession that he liked to be around him? He hoped so. </p><p>"I want to see you too."</p><p>Ah. </p><p>"So does that—" Arthur paused. "Does that make it official? Are we…?"</p><p>"I am happy to be if you are," Francis smiled at him.</p><p>Arthur smiled right back.</p>
<hr/><p>Gilbert had no idea what an eton mess was or why it was given such a name, and Antonio seemed to have no better understanding. Either way, it involved strawberries, cream and meringue.. </p><p>While Antonio was whipping the double cream (he had read the recipe aloud: '<em>it says to whip until stiff peaks form</em>' and it had got them both laughing away hysterically because of course, they were children with very dirty minds when tipsy), Gilbert was helping himself to some of the strawberries that had been left over from that afternoon's prep. Some of those strawberries had already been pureed, blitzed into mush. Others had been chopped up into little pieces. So Gilbert considered his one-bite method a mercy kill.</p><p>"Want a strawberry?" he offered at one point. Gilbert wasn't sure why. "You haven't eaten any fruit today." Parental concern, it turned out, then. "That's unlike you."</p><p>"Monitoring my eating habits, are you?" Antonio joked, casting him a sideways glance as he continued to whip the cream. "Should I be worried?"</p><p>"I just want to make sure you are getting the daily recommended amount!" Gilbert insisted. "Five portions of fruit a day, and all you've had is a banana!"</p><p>"Hey—" Antonio reached for his wine glass (half-full again already) and held it up next to him, electronic mixer in his other hand and being paid no mind. "Wine is made of grapes. Which makes a glass a portion of fruit!"</p><p>The Prussian gave a snort of laughter, which in turn made the other give a radiant smile. "I'm not sure that's how it works, Toni."</p><p>"It is in my house!"</p><p>"Yeah? Well, remind me to come over more, then. I'll be healthier in no time."</p><p>They looked at each other for a minute. Antonio seemed to have no response, just smiling at him, and Gilbert was equally stumped. It wasn't an awkward silence so much as it was an unusual silence. Gilbert was too used to their loud antics, their joyous laughter… But now he just found himself smiling as well, and in a perfectly humble way. No loudness about it.</p><p>That was, until Antonio's distraction led to a sudden explosion of cream splatters shooting out from a mis-angled mixer and all over the kitchen. It was only for two seconds, his quick reflexes kicking into to turn the appliance off, but when the brunette looked to Gilbert again the (slightly intoxicated) laughter reentered their lives.</p><p>"Sorry, Gil!" he said, hurrying for a wet cloth. The cream had hit the black jacket he was wearing and Antonio was on a mission to wipe it off before it stained. "You know," he then added as the wiping commenced, "you might have to scrap the jacket for the rest of the evening. It'll look weird with a wet patch."</p><p>"I'm sure it would be weirder with a lump of cream on it," Gilbert retorted.</p><p>He wasn't upset or dismayed by the incident. If he had to take it off, he had to take it off. It was all very well dressing up for Francis' and Arthur's sakes, but what about the other two? If it all went smoothly in the kitchen, there would be no fun, there would be no long-lasting memories. That would absolutely suck! He wanted to have these memories with Antonio, he wanted them to have inside jokes and things only they could talk and reminisce about... Really, he cared about him so much, he would do anything to allow them that sort of relationship—one that was first built on a stable, childish friendship.</p><p>So, as Antonio helped him get the jacket off, he tried to commit what he could to memory. The smiles, the laughs, the looks… Of course, much of Antonio had long been ingrained in his mind. Every expression, every nervous tick, every inch of skin—</p><p>"Have I got any on me?" Antonio asked Gilbert, piercing the other's thoughts.</p><p>He seemed clean besides the odd white splash on his apron, which was impressive given that he had stood right next to the bowl. Lucky bastard. And yet, as he looked at Antonio and pretended to check him all over, searching for splashes that weren't there, Gilbert couldn't stop himself in the moment… He couldn't resist… He beckoned Antonio closer and reached for his face, the space between them almost non-existent. Why he was doing this, he didn't know (alcohol? He was on beer number four since thay afternoon and had also snuck some wine…). But regardless, he brushed his thumb over the other's cheek, wiping away the invisible cream, and the silence returned for a moment. And then:</p><p>"What's the next step in the recipe?" Gilbert asked him. They seemed stuck in a perpetual staring-contest, green and red, warm and cold.</p><p>Antonio eventually managed an answer: "Put the strawberry puree in with the cream and gently fold together...?"</p><p>But there was no movement to return to the dessert, to start combining ingredients and make an eton mess. Instead came movement <em> together, </em> to start combining a different kind of ingredient and to make their own kind of mess. Antonio was the strawberries to his cream. <em>Gently fold together.</em> Better yet, the wine to his beer. Gilbert had put his arms around him and Antonio had returned the gesture, and in a matter of milliseconds, the brunette had pressed his lips to Gilbert's.</p><p>Francis, bless him, had no idea about some of the feelings that whizzed around within their trio. And of course, Gilbert and Antonio had had ventures here and there, as had Francis with various combinations of the three, but recently it felt like something more had grown between these two especially. Something deeper.</p><p>And he could tell—he could feel it in the way Antonio had looked at him, how he now kissed him—that the feelings were real. He had hoped, he had fantasised… All these things, these moments, these smiles… Gah, Gilbert was becoming flustered all of a sudden! He could feel his cheeks warming up! What was he supposed to do?! <em> Kiss back</em>, Francis cried out to him (though only in his mind, he hoped), <em> show him how you feel! </em></p><p>So he did.</p><p>There was nothing rough or rushed about their kiss. It was simple, gentle, prolonged mutually as hands started to slightly wander and breaths became harder to come by— And then it stopped just as suddenly.</p><p>Antonio pulled away from him, an uncharacteristically timid look on his face. It was almost apologetic. "Sorry," he said. Fuck, it <em> was </em> apologetic! "I didn't quite mean for that to happen…"</p><p>The Prussian straightened himself out a bit, anxious. "Like, at all?" he asked after a strained quietness. He didn't like the notion. He could feel his heart sinking.</p><p>"No, no— Just not <em> here</em>," Antonio quickly assured him with a nervous laugh, however. Gilbert could breathe again. "Not today."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"I don't want there to be a knock-on effect," he elaborated. "On Francis. It's their night, I want to focus on making him happy."</p><p>"And what about you?" Gilbert countered. He had no idea where his words came from, but in the end, it could only be one place. "Don't you deserve to be happy, too? Don't you want to be happy?"</p><p>"Do you<em>… </em> want to <em>make</em> me happy…?"</p><p>The answer was 'yes'. Yes, he did. He really did. And it wasn't the beer talking or the mood or the idiocy he knew his body harboured. It was because of the other's smiles. <em>All</em> <em>of them</em>. He wanted to see them all, all the time, in all circumstances that warranted them. And more so, Antonio was a bright light, a sweet thing, a bit naughty like himself, unafraid and free… Gilbert couldn't say if he was deserving or not, or whether Antonio agreed, but he could continue to hope as he had been for a little while. One day, perhaps they would do more... <em>Be</em> more...</p><p>"Maybe we should talk about this when  we are sober," Antonio began to suggest, returning to the cream and asserting a fierce gaze on the strawberry puree as he slowly poured it into the bowl. Like he was trying to not look at Gilbert instead. "I don't want the alcohol to do anything… Well..."</p><p>"Toni?"</p><p>"Mhm, yeah?"</p><p>"<em>In vino veritas</em>."</p><p>A small smile appeared on Antonio's face as he started to gently fold the puree into the cream, producing a marbled mixture of scarlet and ivory. It was another one of those smiles Gilbert did not often see. It was one of knowing, of understanding. </p><p>"Go and check on the ‘clients’, will you?" the brunette asked of him, gaze still fixated on the bowl all the while. </p><p>Gilbert didn't need telling twice. What came next whizzedhby like a blur: he zipped out of the cottage, grabbed the bowls with a certain rush that left Francis and Arthur bewildered, then fetched the now layered eton mess, took them out to the still-confused couple, and then raced back to the kitchen. Something needed his attention and he'd be damned if he neglected it in favour of playing '<em>restaurant'</em>. </p><p>They'd put the eton mess to shame, for sure.</p>
<hr/><p>"This has been nice."</p><p>"I quite agree."</p><p>"I'm amazed how nothing bad has happened, to be honest."</p><p>"And you've just jinxed it," Arthur told him with a raised brow, rather mirthful, "and now your kitchen will probably explode."</p><p>Francis was inclined to disagree, given that Antonio knew what he was doing and, as far as the menu suggested, there was nothing left to actually <em> cook </em>. "Everything will be fine," he summarised for the Brit. "They can be responsible when they want to be. I mean, they put all this together.”</p><p>A hum came from the other as he looked around at everything that had been prepared for them. Francis would have to thank his friends later on (or, perhaps, another day) for all their efforts. The evening had gone very well and he knew the atmosphere, the location, the light music playing from the windowsill… It all added to the ambience that had just made it so perfect. They had most definitely made it up to Francis, and he knew that Arthur had been won over as well.</p><p>“That they did,” Arthur conceded between small spoonfuls of dessert (though not his favourite, Francis at the very least could appreciate the meringue chunks littered throughout). “Maybe they aren’t so bad after all.”</p><p>“Did you ever truly hate them?” the Frenchman questioned.</p><p>His companion grinned. “You’d love for me to say ‘no’,” he remarked. “But they have their moments, Fran. Ups and downs. I think that comes with knowing people for such a length of time.”</p><p>“Ah, so you and I also have these ups and downs and will continue to have them? Even in a relationship?” Francis commented in turn. Now <em> he </em> was the one with an arched brow, bemused, though he had made the comment in pure jest. </p><p>“Of course we will,” Arthur rightly insisted. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. It wouldn’t be the same if we couldn’t have our little spats and arguments, would it?”</p><p>“I suppose not..."</p><p>“Do you... think it’s bad, that we argue?”</p><p>Francis hadn’t really expected the question, but his instinct was to say no, it wasn’t bad. It could sometimes be hurtful, but they were as bad as each other, and at the end of the day, and both knew their faults. Francis knew that Arthur didn’t always mean what he said, just like Arthur knew the same about him. As the Brit had said: it came with knowing people for so long. They were bound to collide, to knock heads. But so long as they both knew when to stop or when the line had been crossed or when they needed to apologise, then it was okay. </p><p>Besides, arguments were the foundation of their history together. There was no way they would be able to change that. So long as politics stayed out of it, and their personal lives—as Francis and Arthur, rather than as France and Britain—remained a sacred sphere, then he knew they would be okay. And if they ever stopped being okay, then Francis would do his best to make it better.</p><p>All of this was reiterated to Arthur, of course, and in simpler terms. Even so, the answer was well-received. Arthur appeared to be grateful. Francis was just grateful that he had listened so attentively without making any kind of untoward remark.</p><p>Ten minutes passed. They had started holding hands again as Arthur had gone to complain about a growing cold, and Francis had come to his rescue. Kind of. </p><p>By now, they had finished the eton mess they had been provided (Francis had been delighted that Arthur had given his best attempt at a compliment, and had made note to pass the critiques on to Antonio another time) and were quite comfortably full. Four courses had been a rather generous offer. Which had then prompted Arthur to suggest that Antonio and Gilbert join them, just for a bit, before they all called it a night. It would be nice to thank them both together rather for them to slip away, as he imagined they would. </p><p>How could Francis argue with logic like that?</p><p>He got up from his seat and took both of the empty glasses (not the <em> wine </em> glasses but the dessert glasses; those wine glasses never went empty while Francis was around to pour). “Let’s go to the kitchen,” he said. “It will be easier than waiting for Gilbert to reappear.” </p><p>“Sure,” Arthur thankfully concurred.</p><p>So Francis led the way. It was a bit warmer inside in spite of the open veranda doors, and he walked on through the living area, past the dining room and then around to the kitchen door. “Gil, Toni?” he called out as he went, alerting them to his presence as he entered the room. “We have had an—”</p><p>He stopped. He stared. He froze.</p>
<hr/><p>Hearing Francis suddenly from around the corner, Antonio panicked and pushed Gilbert back so they could try to act normal, try to deflect, try to pretend nothing had happened. But the silence that had come to cut Francis off was all the sign he needed that it had been a wasted effort. He had seen them together, and they had been doing a little more than just <em>kissing</em>. Now Gilbert was standing awkwardly at the sink and Antonio was holding a bunch of grapes intended for the cheese board, and neither was even <em> mildly </em> convincing. The empty beer bottles (and empty wine bottle, too) did not help their case.</p><p>Antonio slowly moved his gaze to look at the Frenchman, Arthur also lingering somewhere behind him. "I didn't expect to see you both so soon! Hi!" he greeted, doing his best to remain calm and 'normal' in spite of his disheveled look (well, only slightly more disheveled than normal) and red face. "Is everything okay?"</p><p>Francis took a moment to draw his gaze away from Gilbert (<em>dammit, Gil, make eye contact!</em>) and say, "I think so," now looking at Antonio. The Spaniard knew that look, that glint, and that sudden grin all too well. <em> Fuck. </em> "Arthur and I were wondering if you wanted to join us for a bit, but perhaps you would prefer not to?"</p><p>"Uhh…"</p><p>"Why, do you guys need supervising?" Gilbert joked. At least he stole away Francis' attention so he could busy himself with the grapes and not have to be given that look because <em> God damn it</em>, tonight was about only supposed to be about <em> Francis and Arthur</em>!</p><p>Speaking of whom, the Brit (-ish bastard) then decided to speak up: "I think we can look after ourselves, thanks. It was just meant to be an invitation," he remarked, "but if you two are busy, then…"</p><p>Gilbert went to protest, but Antonio saw an opportunity light up, and he was going to grab it by the horns. "We are, actually, yeah. There's cleaning up to do," he said with a smile he had perfected over the span of his lifetime. It had gotten him out of trouble a lot as a kid, for sure. "Sorry, we'd love to join you, but we figured we should get out of your hair soon so you can have some proper alone time. Is that okay?"</p><p>It left both blondes momentarily stunned. They looked at each other and Antonio threw a bewildered Gilbert a quick wink while they were both distracted. And then he looked again to Francis and Arthur, who had partaken in a wordless conversation apparently, because they had settled on their answer:</p><p>"If it's no bother to you," Francis smiled back at him. He set down the glasses on the kitchen counter next to Gilbert (who, Antonio noticed, was missing his bow tie and whose shirt was also half-untucked. <em> Oops...</em>) and proceeded to thank them for all their efforts that evening. "You've done a fabulous job, we've certainly appreciated everything you've done."</p><p>"Of course! It's been a pleasure," Antonio nodded. "Now, I don't mean to sound rude, but you should go and sit down again. It's not over yet, Gilbert still has some waiting to do."</p><p>"It seems he does, for now."</p><p>
  <em> Gah, Francis, why?! </em>
</p><p>"We'll sit in the living room," Arthur suggested while Antonio was debating throwing the grapes in his hands at his smug French friend for good measure. "It'll be warmer, for starters. Don't worry about the clean-up for this last bit. We can sort it."</p><p>"You sure?"</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>"Alright, well, we'll be out in a minute. Go on," Antonio said, nodding aside in the direction of the living room, "give us a moment."</p><p>Nothing more needed to be said. Arthur and Francis parted, the former having to encourage the latter to move with a bit of a tug. At last, Antonio could release a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and he could let his face relax and stop pinning a smile to itself. Gilbert seemed just as relieved that they were gone and he turned to the brunette, giving him a triumphant grin. Oh boy. Antonio couldn't help but smile for him, too. God, it was an infectious thing, <em>smiling</em>… His face was starting to ache.</p><p>Before anything could leave the other's mouth, however, Antonio stated that they should finish what they were there to do. Just get the cheeses out, sort the fruit, and for an extra-special touch: champagne. Yeah, Antonio was not one for scrimping on his best friend! Arthur was... just receiving benefits-by-association. Yeah, that! Within minutes, he was sending Gilbert back out (after, of course, fixing his hair and his shirt so the evidence of what may or may not have happened in the kitchen up against the counters was no longer there) and promptly followed with the bottle and a couple of fresh champagne flutes.</p><p>"Alright," he began as he set it all down on the glass table, "don't drink it all at once, got it? That means you, Franny."</p><p>"I promise I won't," Francis laughed heartily. It was warming, seeing him so upbeat, so alive. "It will be enjoyed, slowly, absolutely no irresponsibility allowed."</p><p>Arthur joined in and nudged him playfully. "Speak for yourself," he jested. For some reason, it was just as humbling to see. "I'm making no such promises."</p><p>"Just go easy on him," Antonio advised all the while. He threw Francis a cheeky wink (payback) and smirked. "His old bones can only take so much."</p><p>"Says the second eldest here."</p><p>"Age before beauty, <em> tío</em>!"</p><p>"I'll have you know—!"</p><p>"Okayyy, we should get going," Gilbert interrupted before Francis could kick up a sudden fuss, taking a hold of Antonio's wrist, ready to guide him back to the kitchen. "Stay safe and use protection, kids!" he called back to Francis and Arthur as they left, and they laughed together as Francis consequently had to calm Arthur down over being called a 'kid'.</p><p>They must have been getting on very well if <em> that </em>was what had offended him most.</p><p>In the kitchen, Antonio was steadily coming down from his laughter. There was little to do now and he watched idly as Gilbert started to move things over to the sink to be washed up. He couldn't be arsed to clean, now. There was no need to, really. But still, he did his quick bit and emptied the remaining glass of rosé wine (his fourth glass that evening) down his own throat (because it would be a shameful waste, otherwise!) and proceeded to dump the vessel into the sink and then wrap his arms back around Gilbert from behind. There was, to his relief, no protest.</p><p>"You know," he said, leaning into the Prussian's back as he sorted out the dirty crockery, "there's a small B&amp;B nearby, about a ten minute walk down the hill."</p><p>"Oh yeah…?"</p><p>"Yeah… I figured we could, well…" A laugh slipped past his lips and he had to bury his face into Gilbert's shoulder for a second so he could calm down. What had made him so giddy, so giggly? <em> Jesucristo</em>. Once composed, he rested his head on the same shoulder and continued: "We could finish off what we never really got to start… because we were interrupted...?"</p><p>Gilbert stopped what he was doing and his own laughter tumbled from his mouth. It made a warmth grow inside Antonio, and he gently tightened his grip for a moment—squeezed him like a cuddly toy—before letting go and stepping to his side. His dear, <em>dear</em> friend looked to him with a smile, all content and serene and honey-sweet, and Antonio almost felt a powerful caprice that would have seen him scrapping the B&amp;B idea and going straight for it right then and there. Ah, thank God for learning self-control…</p><p>"So, what do you want to do?" he asked Gilbert in the end.</p><p>From next door, the faint laughter of their best friend and his companion danced through the open kitchen door. </p><p>"I think," Gilbert slowly replied, "that those two idiots aren't the only ones who need to get a room..."</p><p>"Aww, are you calling me an idiot now?"</p><p>"Yeah. That a problem, Toni?"</p><p>He shook his head and his face became blithe, his features soft and charmed. "No," he decided. "Not at all."</p><p>Antonio would always be a fool for Gilbert, just like he knew Gilbert would always be a fool for him: friends or not; friends or more. And because of that, he was the greatest treasure Antonio knew.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, so, quick notes about certain details mentioned throughout for anyone curious:</p><p>• I went to Corrèze about seven years ago on a school trip and it was gorgeous. Fond memories… We cycled through an area exactly where I can imagine Francis having his own cottage. A little village, a bakery, a stream flowing through the middle... Somewhere in the rural regions so that he can escape the city and enjoy the serenity of it. The Cotswold are the British version of this sort of scenery, I guess. They're pretty beautiful, too.</p><p>• Arthur's reference to the Conservatives after Francis says he likes eton mess is a nudge towards Eton College in London, which has given rise to various conservative politicians here in England. Private boarding school snobs. So I like to refer to their Party as an 'Eton mess'. It's just a lil' something for any Brits who may be reading.</p><p>• I absolutely love the group Modern Talking, and 'Cheri Cheri Lady' is one of my favourite songs. They're a German pop duo that sing in English, and I blame my mum for my life-long addiction. Highly recommend 'Atlantis is Calling' and 'Geronimo's Cadillac'. We like to play their music when we cook together, and we sing along and have a dance, so I couldn't see why Toni and Gil wouldn't do the same.</p><p>• 'In vino veritas' is a Latin quote, meaning 'in wine lies the truth'. Gilbert is telling Antonio that the alcohol is only helping them reveal how they really feel and shouldn't be given any bad blame for what they do. Antonio only smiles because he agrees, glad that Gilbert feels a certain way, too. Awe.</p><p>☆ * ☆ * ☆ * ☆</p><p>Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! I've had this rough scenario bouncing around in my head for a little while, but I waited until my exams were over to write it. Safe to say, I'm pretty satisfied! I just hope you are too! I mean, maybe it's more weighted towards the PruSpa than the FrUK but hey, it's so much more uncommon! I'm giving it love!</p><p>Stay safe out there, peeps, love to you all ♡</p></blockquote></div></div>
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